“I suppose,” Jerkface said, “that I should say something.”

“Of course,” FM whispered, rolling her eyes, though she returned to her own place.

Jerkface began speaking in a stiff voice. “The DDF protocol handbook explains that to die in the cockpit—fighting to protect our homeland—is the bravest and greatest gift a person can give. Our friends, though taken too early, were models of Defiant ideals.”

He’s reading. I realized. From notes written… on his hand?

“We will remember them as soldiers,” Jerkface continued, now holding his hand up before him. “If you need counseling at this loss—or for any reason—as your flightleader, I am here. Please come to me, so I can make you feel better. I will gladly bear the burden of your grief so that you can focus on your flight training. Thank you.”

He sat down. And, well, that was probably the dumbest speech I’d ever heard. More about him than about those empty seats. But… I supposed he had tried?

Cobb finally limped through the door, holding a fistful of papers and muttering something to himself. “Flight positions!” he snapped. “We’re going to cover tandem maneuvering today—again. The way you guard each other is so sloppy, I’d expect to see you on a plate of mess hall food.”

We just kind of stared at him.

“Move!” he barked.

Everyone started strapping in.

I—instead—stood up. “Is that it?” I demanded. “Aren’t you going to say anything about them? About Bim, or Morningtide, or what the admiral did to—”

“The admiral,” Cobb said, “did nothing to you. The Krell killed your friends.”

“That’s ratcrap,” I blurted. “If you toss a kid into a lion’s den, can you really blame the lion?”

He met my eyes, but I wasn’t going to back down this time. I wasn’t sure what I wanted, but at least this emotion—feeling furious at him, at the admiral, at the DDF—was better than emptiness.

We glared at each other until the door squeaked and opened, and Kimmalyn stepped in. Though her long black hair was combed—as usual—into perfect curls, her eyes were puffy and red. Cobb glanced at her and his eyes widened, as if he was surprised to see her.

He thought she’d given up. I realized.

Instead, puffy eyes and all, Kimmalyn raised her chin.

Cobb nodded toward her seat, and she strode over—a model of Defiant poise—and sat down. In that moment, she seemed more like a warrior than I’d ever been.

I set my jaw, then took my seat and strapped in. Shoving Cobb around wasn’t going to relieve my anger at the admiral. I needed a control sphere in my hand and a destructor trigger under my finger. That was probably why Cobb wanted to work us hard today—to make us sweat, maybe make us forget for a little while. And… yeah. Yeah, I was on board for that.

Cobb, however, didn’t turn on our projectors. Instead he slowly took a folding chair, then limped to the center of the room and unfolded it. He sat down, clasping his hands before him. I had to lean out the side of my rig to see him, as did most of the others.